The Fatal Child by John Dickinson Read Free Book Online

greater work didst then or now/Than trap the
(something)
starlight’s glisten/And set it on a child’s brow!
(Well – some work needed perhaps, but in moments such as these he felt nearer to poetry than at any other time of his day.) It was a while before he realized that she had not answered him.
    ‘Why do you ask, my dove?’
    ‘He spoke to me,’ she said.
    ‘Oh? When?’
    ‘Last night, when I was asleep.’
    ‘I see. Do you want to tell me about it?’
    ‘No.’
    No. She never did.
    ‘I’m sorry you still have nightmares,’ he said. ‘You must try to remember that you are safe. No one here will harm you.’
    She said nothing. Her face was solemn, her thoughts secret. Brown eyes, pale skin, all in the dark surround of the hood – what did her young mind see when it turned in on itself so? Something was in there, some idea or plan forming in her brain. It might be a new way of avoiding the attentions of the convent mothers. It might be some revenge upon another girl, for something silly or spiteful that had been done. And one day soon it would become action. He knew her well enough to be sure of that. But she would not share it with him until it did.
    Poor thing, he thought. She needed comforting, yet it was always difficult to comfort her. He said nothing but reached across to take her hand.
    In the cloisters the hillwoman maid Gadi was coughing – a light, plaintive sound. They had told himthat Gadi was not well these days. She was often feverish and lay in bed. Nevertheless she seemed to have dragged herself from her pallet and put on her convent servant’s gown to come and watch over them. That was proper, he supposed.
    It was quite unnecessary of course. He would never dream of harming Atti. But it was proper all the same.
    He pointed upwards. ‘Look,’ he said.
    Above them, hard against the blue of the sky, the walls and roofs of Tuscolo castle rose one above another to the keep, where the banners of Gueronius hung in the windless air.
    ‘Count along from the end of the big hall-building. One, two, three windows. That’s mine. That’s the room in which I work. I’m always there, looking over you.’
    ‘Yes, I know,’ she said.
    ‘So you are quite safe, you see.’
    Her hand rested in his own like a thing with no life. ‘This one wasn’t a nightmare,’ she muttered.
    ‘That’s better then, isn’t it? No more screaming in the night, eh?’
    He looked at her anxiously, wondering if the convent mothers were still beating her each time she woke the dormitories. By the Angels! If they were, after all he had had to say on the subject, he’d make them wish they had paid better attention! Convents were convents and rules were rules, but there were things a chancellor could do with his pen that made even bishops tremble.
    ‘No,’ she said.
    ‘That’s better, then. Even so …’ he mused. ‘Cloisters may cloy, orders be odious and nuns none. I have been wondering if this is the best place for you. I do not think you are happy here. I will look around for something better. There is never any space up at the castle but – well, maybe you could lodge with me for a while.’
    She did not answer. Behind those beautiful cheeks and lashes her face showed nothing. Maybe her hand tensed a little and pulled slightly against his fingers, but that was only Atti being Atti. He held her wrist, leaned back and looked at the sky. Really, these visits to the convent were the only oasis in his waking hours. Up there in the castle, behind that impassive façade, all his time and energy was given to others. All the muttering and copying and scurrying – all the piles of paper heaving on his tables within! In a few minutes, just a few minutes, he must be back to it. Heigh-ho! One day, maybe, the King would appoint him Bishop of Tuscolo, or Jent, or one of the other great sees. He could take the vows, have a tonsure and become not only a priest but a prince overnight. It was something to know the worth of what